


We aren't so much friends as we are a set of forced acquaintances

by Genna-Red (Genna_Bella)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Meddling Kids, References to Depression, References to anxiety, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genna_Bella/pseuds/Genna-Red
Summary: Donald Doyle has faced many trials and tribulations in his seventeen years of living, all of which he has bested one way or another.The most recent problem he's being forced to face however is the horrors of the American Public Schooling System and the villains that lurk within its halls.At least he has a ragtag bunch of misfits to keep him sane.For the most part.
Relationships: Donald Doyle/Vanessa Kimball, Locus | Samuel Ortez/Donald Doyle (onesided)
Kudos: 6





	We aren't so much friends as we are a set of forced acquaintances

“Cite Newton’s second law.” 

“F = ma.” An eager boy with platinum blonde hair and focused brown eyes responds to his clearly uninterested Hispanic companion.

“Describe the law of conservation of mass energy.” Darker brown eyes stare back at his friend who hesitates for a moment before answering.

“Matter can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred or transformed. Or was it Transformed and transferred—”

“Donald you learnt this stuff this morning!” A new voice throws Donald out of his concentration, his second friend groaning as she tucks a loose strand of bob-cut hair behind her ear, swallowing her mouthful of rice. “You can’t _revise_ what you just _learnt_. Plus you’re taking time out of Sam’s lunch.”

Both of their gazes fall to their dark skinned friend who remains silent whilst holding Donald’s revision cards, his hulking athletic frame casually intimidating when combined with his resting glare his friends had become used to by now.

“ _If_ Sam minded he would’ve said something by now.” Gesturing to their still quiet friend the same way one would do in reference to someone absent. “You should be studying too Emily! Heaven knows it only helps.”

Emily rolls her eyes and violently clicks the lid to her container on her rice. “I’m thirteen and a senior in highschool. Out of the three of us I doubt _I’m_ the one that needs to be worried about _grades_.”

“My grades are fine.” Sam growls.

“I wasn’t talking about your Mr Napoleon complex, but judging by that reaction maaaaybe I should’ve been.” She teases, standing from the cinderblock she’d been perched atop and jumping down next to Sam, stepping over him and Donald to make her exit.

Sam checks his watch subtly as she goes, moving with her and placing the cards behind him as he picks up his things, leaving Donald in the gravel.

Realising he was being abandoned Donald grabs his own pile of school gear, clumsily scattering his science flash cards as the school bell rings.

* * *

For the first time in Donald’s seventeen years of life he was late to class. Well, maybe not the first time but Donald wouldn’t admit that under pain of death (scratch that, he probably would).

History was easily among his least favourite subjects, mainly because he took it to satisfy his father which not only failed, but now forced him to endure the terrible class due solely to his own stupidity.

At least he had Emily.

He takes a seat beside his Asian companion who smiles back a greeting, tucking a stray piece of purple tipped black hair behind her ear.

The teacher didn’t stop speaking come Donald’s arrival, instead she raised an eyebrow at the anomaly and went straight back to teaching.

After Donald started truly listening to her he began to hear about a group presentation that appeared to make up a considerable percentage of their overall grade for the term.

Upon hearing this he exchanges a knowing glance with Emily, before five words shatter his hopes and dreams.

“I will be deciding groups.”

Donald feels his face drop visibly. Wasn’t it enough for him to be the cowardly British nerd with a penchant for polo shirts with his name embroidered on them? Now he has to team up with someone who’ll likely do all _sorts_ of deplorable things to him.

He was near positive if he had never met Sam on the first day by bumping into the behemoth on accident he wouldn’t even still be here.

The teacher begins reassigning seats, instantaneously separating Donald and Emily. She pairs Emily with a boy whose looks could only be described as weasely. With slicked back brown hair, a single diamond earring and a wide shit-eating grin, he looked like a 50’s greaser without the class.

Donald on the other hand was seated next to a girl with darker skin and light blue dyed hair in a short and curly pixie cut, various facial piercings and a worn leather jacket. Her work book was largely blank and the notes that had been jotted down appeared scarce and unhelpful on a primary glance.

“What the hell are you meant to be?” She looks him up and down, lingering on his overly perfectly styled hair to his initial embroidered into his shirt.

“Uhm, my name is Donald Doyle and—”

“Oh God is it??” She cackles, eyes widening.

“Yes?” He says hesitantly, worried he said something incorrect.

“Jesus. _Please_ tell me you’re faking the accent.”

“Unfortunately not…” He curls his head further into his neck in shame.

“Well then _Donald Doyle_ , I hope you’re ready to do most of the work because I am not gonna be lifting many fingers here.”

“What? Why not?” Donald stares at her incredulously.

“I work most days. I’m not gonna spend time doing some stupid school report when I could be making money.” She shrugs an explanation. “You seem smart though and timid, which is really all I need for a passing grade.”

“Hold on, are you taking advantage of me?” Donald looks at her aghast.

“What the fuck? No? Jesus Doyle why are you making it sexual?” She looks at him with furrowed brow.

“Wh—?! I—?!” He flounders for a moment, feeling himself go a bright red at her notion. “Look, all I meant was that I’ve been here for less than a month and before we moved I watched a bunch of American high-school dramas for research but one of my other friends said all of it was hyperbole and none of it should be used as scientific truth but this is almost _textbook_ in how—”

“Yeah I get it. Jesus that’s so fucking sad. Like I never actually thought I could ever meet someone who _actually_ thought like this.” She cuts him off, laughing to herself. As it dies down her vision snaps back to Donald’s face, looking it over in recognition. “Hold on, are you the scrawny white kid that hangs out with Locus?”

“Who, Sam? Yeah, I bumped into him on my first day.” Donald shrugs with a half-hearted laugh, “I helped him with his maths homework once and he hasn’t left me alone since.”

“Uh _what_ did you just call him?” She asks astounded.

“Sam? That’s his name, isn’t it?”

“ _No one_ calls him Sam. If you do, its like signing your own death warrant.” She says through gritted teeth.

“Oh I thought Locus was just a cool nickname. Emily and I always call him Sam.”

The girl leans back into her chair, “I mean yeah. Isaac started calling him Locus after he learnt about geometry and looked up ‘Locus of control’ instead of, y'know _the actual geometry definition of the word Locus_. He thought it represented him pretty well.”

“Really? Oh, I always saw him as more of a gentle giant who’s just naturally intimidating. I didn’t realise he was so… _feared_.” Donald shrugs.

“He puts fuckers in the hospital.”

“Oh. Uh—”

“How new are you even?”

“It’s still my first term.”

“I guess that’s why I didn’t know who you were. If you really are friends with Locus everyone would avoid you like the fucking plague and pretend you didn’t exist. You’re like the boy who lived as far as everyone else cares.” The girl shakes her head. “I’m Kimball by the way. Also what I said about the project still stands, being friends with Locus doesn’t get you out of this.”

“Not even a bit?”

Kimball looks at him unimpressed. “No. No it doesn’t. I’ll wait for you after school, you’re coming home with me so I can make sure you actually do it well.”

“Then why not _actually help_?” He asks, reaching his wits end.

“Because I have work most days and I’m not gonna do school when I don’t have work.” She explains again, “also because fuck you.”

“That is fair.” 

Kimball rolls her eyes, kicking out her chair and walking over to Emily, opening dialogue with her partner that allowed Donald to meet eyes with his friend, exchanging a glance of ‘help me’ as the bell signalling class’ end answers their plea.

Donald jumps at the harsh ring like he often did, prompting him to quickly collect his strewn items and stuff them into his bag as he performs a half-run half-walk action in an effort to reach the front of the crowd and not appear weird while doing so. 

He quickly gets lost in his own thoughts as he exits the room. He was going to the house of a girl who likely could rip him limb from limb after having me her for the first time _minutes_ ago. Not to mention he’d have to explain to his father where he went, explain to his mother he wasn’t ‘falling in with those people’.

It soon dawned on Donald that he had two options: get the merciless fuck beaten out of him by Kimball and whatever horribly violent friends she had that were more than likely going to steal his money and commit tax fraud in his name, or get the merciless fuck beaten out of him by his father as his mother watches on helplessly screaming at the both of them which would honestly be much worse and always felt more personal… mainly because it _was_ but he digressed.

But was the personal element really enough to warrant a delay to his assignment? He had endured his father every day of his seventeen years of existence, he could endure one more. But on the other hand Kimball hadn’t even given him an address, she’d only said ‘meet me after school’. She never even said _where_ . At the drop off area? At school’s back entrance? At the area behind the science block where he was certain kids went at break to smoke from bongs hidden in the underthicket that were _never washed_.

There was always the option of getting Sam involved. Or well, _maybe_ . He always needed to remind himself that he wasn’t actually _friends_ with Sam by definition of the word. Sam hung around him and Emily because he needed the academic assistance, and if it were up to him he’s likely just joined the ‘beating Donald bandwagon’ before he could even pretend to retaliate.

“Donald!” A squeak forces its way into Donald’s ear as arms took his own. “It’s soooo cool Vanessa’s letting us study at her house!”

“Who, Kimball? And why are _you_ coming along too?” Donald asks her confused and slightly dazed.

“Yeah Vanessa Kimball _duh_ . She only gave you her last name to seem tough.” Emily rolls her eyes, “and I’m paired with her friend Isaac, she invited us both after she ditched you and you looked at me with these eyes that were just _begging_ for death.”

“Well she didn’t just _seem_ tough Emily, she _seemed_ like she was prepared to eat my fingers and serve my fingerless stump-hands with tar tar sauce for lunch!” Donald stresses, trying to get his point across but instead just seeming like a terrified hyperbolic baby.

“I dunno man, she seems pretty cool. Like a rebel without a cause, but in the end? Looking for love~” She swoons over her own narrative, nestling into Donald’s arm for stability.

“She’s not ~looking for love~, just some poor sod who’ll fuel her drug habits for that month. I’m sure she had an ounce on her just then.” Donald scoffs bitterly, folding his arms.

“That’s not cool Donald, you don’t know her life.” Emily grimaces, “plus uh.”

“Eyes everywhere.” He mutters, “potential allies that could twist off my head and waterboard it whilst it’s disattached from my body.”

“Jesus dude. You have fucking issues, has anyone told you that?” Emily frowns at him with brow furrowed, opening her locker after a few failed attempts, stowing her gear into the cramped shelter, her hand returning with the books required for her next period. “Sure you weren’t home-schooled in Britain with nothing to watch but the Saw movies growing up?”

“Sure you’re not missing out on your middle school’s finger-painting class?” Donald shoots back.

“We didn’t finger paint in middle school. You really were home-schooled, weren’t you?” She says a bit more gently this time, bumping his elbow with her own playfully.

“I’m not even going to dignify you with a response.” He huffs as the two make their way to their next class together.

  
  
  



End file.
